


The Sinner

by lemotmo



Category: Without a Trace
Genre: Blasphemy, FBI Agent Danny, Gen, M/M, OMC - Freeform, Without a Trace AU, priest!Martin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 17:58:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/600566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemotmo/pseuds/lemotmo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <b>Father Martin loved his job and he never once questioned his calling before-- until now.</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sinner

**Author's Note:**

> I'm in the process of transferring my best fics from Livejournal to this Ao3 account. As I read the stories again, I can clearly see the way my writing-style has changed (for the better) over the years. Some of these stories could use some re-editing. However, I have decided to leave the fics as they are. Each story clearly reflects the way I looked upon the world at the moment of writing. I kinda like that.
> 
> **This story is a repost from a fic written in February 2007**.

Whenever Martin tried to recall the first few days after his arrival in Saint Paul's parish, he always came up with nothing more than a blur of faint images and shallow impressions. The only thing he was absolutely certain of was shaking -what must have been- a thousand hands.

Ten years. That's how long he has been serving God here. And yes-- he was still one hundred percent convinced that becoming a priest was the best decision he's ever made.

It was hard to believe that ten years of hard work had come and gone. These days are so far removed from the day when he stepped into the church hall for the first time, nervous and anxious, not knowing what to expect. He was still so green back then. Young Father Martin, straight from the Seminary.

Everything that could go wrong, went wrong of course. A deep red colour still graced his face whenever he relived that first sermon he so eloquently messed up. He can't stop a wry, self depreciating grin from forming on his lips whenever he vividly recalled how people had reacted to that.

"It wasn't that bad," his mentor, Father Peter, had afterwards confided in him, "just try to keep your cool next time and-- you know-- watch your feet when you step off the chancel. Acrobats belong in the circus, not in church. We tend to keep that kind of amusement out of the house of our Lord."

It was hard for him in the beginning, pulling and fighting, trying to burrow his way into the heart of the community. There were plenty of times when he felt like a complete and utter idiot. He had been so naïve, thinking that everyone would just welcome him in and accept his presence in the Parish. He had often released his pent up frustration by yelling at Father Peter-

"I've had it, Father! These people are the most hard-headed, stubborn idiots I've ever met. I'll never fit in here. They're not worth the effort. They're just not!"

\--which of course, he had to confess to later in confession, promising ten Hail Mary's and an apology to Father Peter.

But then he would wake up in the morning. The sun would be shining, he would hear children playing outside his window and-- suddenly the passion would be there again. He would once again remember why he wanted to become a priest in the first place. Besides, the people of the parish weren't the only ones who could be stubborn as a mule.

A lot of the people had never lived anywhere else than in the same poor shabby neighbourhood. They had seen some of the worst things in life and had developed thick hides, hardening themselves against the violence of the outside world.

They didn't just hand out their trust to everyone who showed an interest in them. No, if Father Martin wanted their trust? He'd better damn well work for it. So, that's what Martin did.

He helped setting up new and improved homeless shelters and started scheduling daily visits to the local elderly homes. He talked to street-savvy teenagers, kids without dreams, hopes or goals. They did nothing but roam the streets all day long, stealing, lying and cheating. And for a while there it was really tough, as they flat-out laughed at him--

"Hey, look, there's Father Martin again! What is it Father? Do you want to talk about our feelings again?"

\--but Martin was nothing if not persistent and in the end it turned out to be all worth it, 'cause when the first volunteers for the new neighbourhood soccer team showed up, he realised he was slowly getting somewhere.

And he did. It took time, patience, dedication and -admittedly- a lot of prayers. But he felt how people slowly started to accept his presence and how the trust became stronger every day. Gradually, people started opening up to him. They looked him up when he was in the community centre or after Mass, in church. They started confiding in him and talking to him about the heavy weight of their lives, and he listened to them all.

He was the one they called when they found themselves in trouble and desperately needed help and guidance. He would drop everything and be there for them in an instant.

Then finally-- one day, he woke up and he found that he was no longer _that new priest_ of Saint Patrick's congregation. Instead, he was _Father Martin_ , a full-fledged and trusted member of the community. And when you asked around about Father M _-as kids liked to call him-_ you'd notice how people would speak about him with the deepest respect. They'd tell you that the Father really had made a difference in their lives.

And he loved it. Not the praise and the compliments, but the work, the people-- the joy of having worked so hard and finally having earned what he wanted most-- trust. He regretted not one single second of all the moments spent in this parish. This was the reason why he became a priest and not once had he questioned his calling--

\--until that one unforgettable Sunday in May.

Disappointing these people-- his community-- was absolutely the last thing he ever wanted to do. And yet-- on that beautiful and sunny Sunday morning, _in_ had walked temptation.

Martin was clearing the altar, right after Mass, when the squeaking of the doors told him that someone had walked in.

An idle thought that he should really ask the church's caretaker to fix that door, crossed his mind.

Standing with his back towards the seating area, he heard footsteps coming up the centre aisle, stopping briefly -Martin assumed- to kneel down and form a cross.

"Father?" a voice echoed through the church.

That's when Martin turned and looked up to see who had graced him with a visit. His breath caught for a moment and the words of welcome he had been about to utter, instantly died on his lips.

Right in front of the chancel, looking up at him, stood a man. Dark intelligent eyes meeting his. Full lips sending him a friendly smile.

Martin swallowed hard, realising all too well that he was staring and feeling the tell-tale signs of a distinctive blush travelling up his cheeks. Embarrassed he focused on his breathing, willing himself to calm down, making sure his circulation didn't just focus on one place more to the south of his anatomy. Apparently it only took the sight of one very gorgeous man these days to get _its_ attention _up_.

He couldn't stop himself from indulging in this feeling a little longer though, as he scanned the guy, letting his eyes roam over every expanse of his body. Never in his life had Martin felt like such a pervert as he was openly ogling this man in the middle of church. Him, a priest-- checking out another guy. A guy that could be -for all he knew- an axe murderer.

But it was already too late. A startling clear visual of him and this stranger, all tangled up in some very sweaty scenarios, penetrated his every thought. 

' _Great, another two steps closer to hell for being overwhelmed by carnal lust_ ,' he absentmindedly thought to himself, quickly forming a cross with his right hand.

The stranger shot him an amused grin that instantly made Martin suspicious. And, please God, he had not just said that out loud, had he?

"Tell me, Father--," the man said in a teasing tone, "aren't you a little young to be mumbling like that?"

And apparently he had. Seems when this man had entered the building, Martin's common sense had decided to take a leave of absence. With a startling clarity, Martin came back to his senses, thinking that he must look like a total moron just standing there, staring at this stranger, jaw practically on the floor.

"Father? Are you okay? Cat got your tongue?" the man asked, his mocking grin appearing again as easy as his quick repartee.

"No-no, it's just -uhm- You startled me. I didn't hear you come in," Martin replied, cringing at the very bad lie. There's no way this man would believe that anyone standing within fifty feet of that god awful squeaking door hadn't heard him come in, "Is there something I can do for you, Mister--?"

"Danny," the guy said, stepping up onto the chancel, totally ignoring the boundaries of Martin's personal space. Flashing a badge with his left hand, while thrusting out the other, "Danny Taylor, FBI. But please, call me Danny."

His heart beat going a mile a minute, Martin instinctively reached for his hand and a heated flash went through him when he felt the smooth skin of Danny's hand underneath his fingertips. "Danny Taylor," he repeated, letting the syllables roll on his tongue, testing them out. "I'm Father Martin, how can I help you?"

With natural born elegance and style, Danny pulled out a picture from his coat pocket, showing it to Martin.

"You know this girl?" he asked without preamble.

When Martin looked at the picture, he forgot about Danny for a moment, instantly recognising the girl and hoping against all odds that the agent wasn't here to tell him that--

"Yes, I do," he replied, "her name is Anna Moseley. She does some volunteering around the church and in the shelter. A really good kid. Did something happen to her?"

"She's gone missing."

"Missing?"

"Yeah, she went to a party two nights ago and never came home."

"Oh-that's just-- That's terrible. Can I help in any way?"

"Well, we know she's dedicated to the church and-- from what I picked up, you're a pretty popular priest in this neighbourhood. So I thought, maybe you heard something going around in the neighbourhood or she might have told you something that could be relevant."

"No, no, I'm sorry," Martin replied, trying to think of anything that could be significant, but failing to come up with anything. "The last time I saw her was last week and she was fine then. What-- what do you think happened to her?" Martin asked, concerned.

"That's difficult to tell. It's still too early to come to any conclusions. But, in this line of work you can never be too sure about anything," Danny told him, his voice a little hoarse and dullness clouding his dark brown eyes.

And just like that, Martin realised that Danny Taylor was as much in need of guidance as some of the other people that ended up at his doorstep.

"Yeah, I can understand that," Martin replied, mulling over in his head how he might be able to help this man. "Listen-- Mr Taylor -uhm- Danny, you don't really know me. And for all I know you're not even Catholic, but if you ever need to talk-- I'm a pretty good listener. And I know a few things about dealing with suffering people from first hand experience."

Martin was not at all surprised when Danny studied him for a moment, his eyes slightly puzzled. After a moment of hesitation, he answered. "No, that's fine Father. I appreciate the offer, but it's not necessary."

"Are you sure?" Martin asked again.

"Yeah," Danny said, looking slightly uncomfortable with the conversation. "I've-- I've got to go. I have a missing girl to find."

"Yes. I'll pray to God that you might find her in good health." Martin said. "And remember-- if you ever need to talk--"

"I'll remember Father. Bye," Danny replied, throwing a last confused glance at Martin and then leaving. 

And that had been it. And as far as Martin was concerned, that should have been it.

Only-it didn't turn out quite that way, since--

\--ever since that day, Danny had walked into his church more frequently. Following Mass, always dressed sharply in a really nice suit. Hair dark and messy and Martin couldn't help thinking that it somehow referred to his character-- focused but impatient. For, not once, did he seem able to sit completely still. There was always some body-part moving. If it wasn't a tapping foot it was a restless hand, with fingers drumming a steady rhythm on the church bench. But the thing he noticed the most were his eyes. Those dark eyes that seemed to pierce right through him, as if this guy was trying to analyse him, profiling him. It seemed that those beautiful lips were locked in a permanent mocking grin, as if he was daring the world to just go ahead and try to confront him with all the feelings he had carefully stored inside.

And that's when the dreams began. At first, they were just some vague impressions that left Martin confused when they woke him up. But, bit by bit, they changed, morphed from innocent pictures into hot, sweaty dreams that would never fail to wake him up, sheets clinging to his body, panting like he hadn't taken one single breath in a thousand years. Dreams that left him aroused and in need of release. And when dawn finally appeared and morning crept up on him, he would lie awake, vividly recalling the touch of Danny's hand, his lips on his, his mouth sucking, his tongue probing … hot, incessant and needy. Muscles rippling under all that olive skin, sultry voice calling out his name when he finally came in Martin's mouth. And then, Martin gave up restraint and moaned out Danny's name as he christened his pristine white sheets.

It was the day after one of those particular vivid dreams when the object of his dreams decided to grace him with another visit.

Martin had just finished taking confession when Danny suddenly appeared next to him, almost as if he appeared out of thin air.

"Father Martin?"

"Ah, agent-- Danny. Can I help you?" he managed to ask without stuttering once.

"I have good news Father. We found Anna. It seems she had run away with her boyfriend. They had got as far as Texas, which is where the local police picked them up as they were found stranded by the highway next to a broken down car."

"Thank God. Are they both all right?" Martin asked relieved.

"Yeah, they're fine. They're being checked out in a local hospital right now and they'll be back home by tomorrow," Danny explained, beaming contently.

"Excellent," Martin said, smiling back at him.

"Yes, it is," Danny agreed, before hesitating shortly and sending Martin a nervous little smile. "listen Father, this-- uhm-- this might sound kind of strange, but--" he stopped.

"but--" Martin encouraged him. When Danny didn't reply, Martin added, "Listen, I'm a priest, I hear a lot of strange things, so try me out."

"Well, I've been thinking about your offer. You know, the one if I ever needed to talk to someone?" Danny said.

"Yes, you've come to take me up on it?" Martin asked.

"Well, you see, this work I do for the FBI, on the Missing Persons Unit. There's all these cases and some of them are really-- well, for example, right now, there's this 8 year old and he--"

"he--" Martin pushed.

"What?" Danny replied, clearly annoyed. "You have some kind of compulsion to repeat the last words of everyone's sentences?"

"Hey, listen man-- you came to me," Martin angrily spat back, "So, don't give me that."

In an instant Martin understood that this had been the wrong reply. For Danny's eyes were briefly tinged with sadness, before firm shutters were pulled down and nothing was visible anymore in those once expressive eyes. He realised that this was Danny's way of dealing with grief and anger. He mocked, joked, made sarcastic remarks, hurt and tried to make people angry so they would yell at him and push him away.

'Cause that's probably the only way he knows how to cope,' he added in thought.

"Huh, you know what?" uncertainty was now written all over Danny's face as he gesticulated wildly, "T-t-this was a bad idea. I'm-- I'm sorry to have bothered you," he stumbled before starting to turn around.

"Oh, you didn't bother me. I have time," Martin replied, grabbing Danny's arm. Danny slowly turned back towards him, those dark eyes meeting his once again. This time, no mocking glares, no witty quips. Just brutal honesty and a heart-breaking plea for someone to listen to him. Danny had something to say and had apparently -of all people- chosen Martin to share it with.

Swallowing harshly, Martin decided to throw all caution into the wind, because helping people was the one thing he was exceptionally good at and he'd be damned to let this man walk out of his church in pain. It dawned on him that the picture he had made up in his mind about this perfect stranger didn't add up with reality. Danny was just another man with his own set of problems and he was clearly reaching out for Martin's help and that was something he could provide. "You can talk to me. I know it might seem that I couldn't possibly be interested in anything you've got to say, because I don't know you and I know nothing about your problems. But, that doesn't matter, 'cause I can get to know you-- I want to know you. And I want to listen to you, hear what you have to say-- if you let me."

"I'm not very good at this," Danny quietly whispered, his eyes suspiciously moist as he refused to look Martin in the eye, all traces of his former cocky attitude gone.

"That's okay, you don't have to be. And you know what? I'll still be here and I'll still listen," Martin said, firmly holding on to Danny's arm.

"Okay then-- okay," Danny replied, his posture relaxing and smiling a sultry smile that reached all the way up to his eyes.

And for a second Martin forgot to breathe, swallow, close his eyes, even think. For, where he thought that this man had looked handsome before, it was nothing compared to the picture he presented at that moment in time. He suddenly realised that that night and all the following nights the dreams probably wouldn't come anymore, because he was staring the object of those dreams in the eye, and reality far surpassed anything he ever dreamt of.

He also knew that he would never act upon his desire. After all, his father didn't raise him to give up whenever things got difficult or temptation snuck its way into his live. He made a choice for priesthood and celibacy a long time ago, he devoted his life to it and giving up was not in his vocabulary.

However, he wasn't planning on giving up on Danny either. The man needed a friend and that was one thing Martin could offer him-- friendship.

So, after their initial, tentative conversation, Danny kept coming back and sometimes they would talk for hours on end about everything and nothing. There were days when Danny wearily dragged himself into the church and then Martin knew his last case had been a bad one.

But, the days Martin loved most, were the ones when Danny swaggered over to the chancel after Mass, all cocky and confident. Smirk plastered over his face, hair even messier than usual, eyes gleaming with joy.

For a very brief moment Martin drank in the sight of his beautiful friend and indulged in some of his most secret fantasies. He let those hot, sweaty, needy dreams resurface for one second and enjoyed the feeling of desire as he felt it coursing right through him. And for that one moment in time, Martin always considered the _what ifs_ before harshly closing the doors to any further thoughts along that path. For it was the path to temptation and he had left that behind to pursue another, even more fulfilling one.

And afterwards? Afterwards, he always formed a cross and asked God for forgiveness for his one little personal sin he loved to indulge in once in a while. A sin called Danny.

**+AMEN+**


End file.
